I wasn’t exactly trying to kill myself when I did it. It was just a really low time in my life, perhaps the lowest I’ve ever been, and I was confused. But I’m better now—stronger. I don’t get drunk and make out with random guys and I even have a tattoo right below that scar—never forget—to remind me never to forget any of the stuff that’s happened. Good or bad. It’s a part of me and sometimes I think it’s made me stronger.

Tristan and I leave our apartment and I lock the door behind us. We live in an indoor complex that has an elevator, but it’s so ancient and slow that most of the time we take the stairs. As we’re making our way down, I try not to count them, but I’m finding it hard. I need a distraction from my thoughts of Quinton and the complication building between Tristan and me, so I get out my phone to call Lea to see if she’s in for a movie-and-pizza night. Hopefully she is. That way Tristan and I won’t be alone.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say after she answers, then stupidly add, “Nova.”

“No duh.” She laughs. “You’re such a dork.”

“Gee, thanks,” I reply sarcastically. “That means a lot coming from the girl who colored on her face with a permanent marker the other day.”

“I was trying to have school spirit,” she explains defensively. “How the hell was I supposed to know the damn ‘Go Broncos’ wouldn’t wipe off my face afterward?”

“Um, by the fact that the marker said ‘Sharpie’ on it.” I stop at the bottom of the stairway. “And ‘permanent.’ ”

“Ha ha,” she says as Tristan opens the door for me and I step out into the sunlight beaming down from the crystal-blue sky. “You’re such a smartass.”

“So are you.” I head up the sidewalk toward the carport with Tristan lollygagging behind me, messing around with his lighter.

“I know, and I love that I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Me, too.” I rummage through my purse for the keys to my car. “Anyway, so Tristan and I are heading to get some pizza and a movie, then we’re going to bring it back home. Are you down for a pizza/movie night?”

“Can’t,” she says hurriedly. “I have plans.”

“Plans with who?” I halt at the edge of the carport in front of my car. Tristan stops with me, observing me with curiosity. “I know you’re secretly dating,” I say to Lea. “So fess up.”

“I am not,” she replies, feigning offense.

“You are too,” I retort. “It’s why you’ve been hanging out at all the football games.”

“Hey, I like football,” she argues. “I even turned on ESPN once.”

“On accident,” I remind her. “You were channel surfing and then stopped on it because you thought the reporter was hot.”

“Hey, if I say I like football, then I like football.”

“No you don’t. In fact, you told me once that it was a pointless sport that only existed because guys have this need to prove that they’re tougher than each other.”

“Hey, not all guys.” Tristan hops off the curb and underneath the shade of the carport that runs around the entire complex. Then he rounds the front of my car to the passenger side and opens the door. “In fact, I don’t mind being wimpy at all.”

“Sure you don’t,” I tease, going to the driver’s side. “That’s why you tried to pick a fight with that guy in the campus yard the other day.”

“I did that because he slapped your ass,” he says, ducking into the car, and I open my door and get inside too. We slam the doors and then I rev up the engine. “I normally try to avoid fights.”

“He slapped my ass accidentally,” I protest, buckling my seat belt.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he says with an eye roll as he guides his seat belt over his shoulder.

“Um, hello,” Lea says through the receiver. “I’m still here, you know.”

“Sorry, we were just arguing,” I tell her, putting on my sunglasses.

“Yeah, I heard.” She uses that tone that has been getting under my skin for the last few weeks, the one that implies that she thinks Tristan likes me. Normally I’d call her out on it, but not with him right next to me.

“So are you in or out for movie night?” I change the subject.

“I already told you I’m busy.”

“Fine. Go on your date, then.”

“It’s not a date.” She attempts to sound irritated but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“If you say so.” It’s slightly humid inside the car so I crank the air up a notch. “But just so you know, I’m going to wait up all night to see who drops you off.”

“Fine by me,” she says, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

“Have fun on your date,” I say sarcastically, getting ready to hang up.

“You too,” she replies with hilarity. “On your date.”

I shake my head, but laugh and then say good-bye. After we hang up, I toss the phone into my bag. I wonder if Tristan could hear any of that. It doesn’t seem like he could as he squints out the window at Stan, our twenty-five-year-old neighbor, dragging a keg toward the entrance of the apartment complex.

“Looks like Stan’s having a party,” he notes, and I hate the interest in his tone.

“Isn’t he always?” I put the shifter in reverse and pull down the visor. The sun is starting to descend and it’s so blinding I can barely see, even with my sunglasses on. That’s how sunsets are in Idaho, though. Because of the shallow hills and nonexistent buildings, there’s not much to block out the light, so the sky turns into one big orange-and-pink reflection at dusk.

“Maybe we should go,” he suggests, watching Stan struggle to keep the entrance door open so he can drag the keg inside. Tristan glances at me with an unreadable expression. “It could be fun.”

I’m starting to press on the gas to back up, but quickly tap on the brakes, stopping the car. “Tristan, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You’re still in a really vulnerable place in your life. I mean, I remember what happened when I tried weed four months after I stopped doing drugs… and you did really hard stuff… I know your sponsor would agree with me…” I stop rambling because he looks like he’s about to laugh at me, his lips pressed tightly together, his blue eyes sparkling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smile breaks through. “I was just fucking with you, Nova.” Laughter escapes his lips as he reaches for the cigarettes in his pocket. “I wouldn’t go to a party. I care about my recovery enough not to fuck up right now.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That wasn’t funny.”

He keeps on smiling as he puts the end of the cigarette between his lips and lights up. “It kinda was.”

I shake my head, rolling down my window as smoke laces the air. “It’s not funny to make me worry like that.”

“Hey.” He leans across the seat, sticking the hand holding the cigarette out to the side and cupping my face with his free hand, startling me with his unexpected, almost intimate, touch. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not funny to make you worry about that, but it’s always good to know you care about me.”

I sigh. “I care about everyone, which makes my life too stressful sometimes.”

“I know.” He smoothes his finger across my cheekbone and I try not to flinch, despite the fact that I want to. I wonder what these touches mean and worry that one day things are going to get out of hand and confrontation is going to be inevitable. I hate confrontation. I really, really do. “Which makes you such a good person.”

I plaster on a smile, because I have to. He’s in a fragile state—I know that. And he relies on me a lot. If we weren’t friends, I have no idea what would happen with him. Whether he’d be able to take care of himself or slip back into old habits, and I don’t want to find out.

I casually turn my head toward the windshield, pretending that the only reason is that I’m going to back up the car. “You’re so weird sometimes…” I crank the wheel to the left and finish backing out of the spot. “Always complimenting me.”

“I’m weird.” He gapes at me, pointing at himself. “You’re the one who always says goofy things.”

“I do not,” I protest, even though it’s true. I do say goofy things sometimes, when I get nervous.

“You do, too,” he insists as I straighten up the wheel and drive out of the parking lot. “Like that one time you told me some random fact about a raccoon.”

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

“Still, it’s goofy.”

“It’s not that goofy. It just means I have a colorful personality.”

“A colorful, goofy personality.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and then starts hacking as he blows out the smoke. He hurries to roll the window down, coughing as he spits.

“You’re so gross.” I pull a disgusted face. “Seriously.”

“Hey, I have a cold,” he says defensively as he slumps back in the seat with his arm resting on the sill so most of the smoke goes out the window. “I can’t help it.”

“You’ve had that cold for a couple of weeks now. Maybe it’s time to go get it checked out.” I turn out on the main road that goes straight through the center of town. It’s bordered by trees and, since it’s fall, the leaves have fallen onto the street and sidewalks. It’s a beautiful sight and fall is one of my favorite times of the year.

“Okay, Mom.” He rolls his eyes as he takes another drag.

“Or maybe stop smoking,” I say. “You know those things can kill you, right?”

“You know, you’re sounding sort of preachy.” He ashes his cigarette out the window, grinning amusedly. “But that’s okay. I know you only do it because you’re secretly in love with me.”

I give him a blank stare, working hard to restrain a smile because the big goofy grin on his face looks so silly. “You’re such a dork.”

“Good. I can be the dork and you can be the goof and we can complete each other.”